


Bleed

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Bloodplay, F/M, Period Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, soft walker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: It’s a mess, but it doesn’t matter.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Bleed

It’s not like a little blood bothers him. And it doesn’t bother you that much either, aside from the faintly taboo sense of it. But it’s hard, overcoming that feeling, even though you’ve done far more questionable things in the name of pleasure. 

And god, you can just imagine it, can’t you, fucking him bloody for other reasons; the fantasy is all a mixed-up haze of images and you can’t decide which is better: you, wounded, weak, helpless against his overwhelming strength. Or would you rather it be him, bleeding from some nonspecific wound, feral with bloodlust and adrenaline? Either way, the pain is all mixed up in it and it’s easy to lose yourself, to drift away into what-ifs, until a hand gripped ungentle over your cunt brings you back to the _right now._

Those fingers curl into you, _fuck,_ their way slicked by blood and your own essence, and he makes a sound unlike anything you’ve heard from him before, almost yearning, greedy and full of need. And he moves so slowly, stroking two fingers over your walls like he’s petting you, firm like the way his other hand traps both your wrists, almost gentle, like he doesn’t even know how to be soft with you but by god he is _trying._

There’s a deep, hollow ache low in your belly that makes your toes curl and your spine curve down but the longer he works you the more pleasure plays counterpoint, and when his thumb comes up to rub circles around your clit it draws a low, startled noise from you, a sound that’s all vowels. 

The sheets will be ruined and it doesn’t matter, _couldn’t_ matter with the way his hand moves in a come-hither motion, with the way his eyes are blown wide and fixed on you. You wonder what part of this has his mouth dropped open just a shade, just enough to show the tip of his tongue and the edges of his sharp teeth. You wonder what part of it has him shifting his hips down against the sheets, has the muscles of his arms and back flexing and bunching as he holds himself up on one elbow. 

He paints himself in your colors; when you fall apart the first time, he draws back and grips his heavy cock with slick, stained fingers. He flicks his gaze between cock and cunt, messy and wet and red. But when he lines himself up and presses inside, his eyes are on yours. He slides steadily into the aftershocks of your orgasm; he steals your whimpers with a kiss and separates your wrists to hold one in each of his big hands. 

And he is unraveling; he pushes you toward the edge with motions that are jagged and juddering. He snaps his hips and makes a sound like he’s dying; his fingers clench and bruise around your wrists and one will leave a red bracelet there as well as purple. And you, you move around and beneath him; you are a sweaty, bloody mess and you do not care, not with the way he stills above you, not with the way his hair hangs sweaty in his face and it’s all he can do just to breathe. He holds himself there for a handful of breaths, wrestling himself back under control, so that the next time he looks up at you his eyes are hard and cold again, like ice, like stones.


End file.
